


A Long Sleep

by nightoye



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28283685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightoye/pseuds/nightoye
Summary: It is a translation test for my work. I used a machine translaing so there might be some parts hard to understand, or some grammer mistakes. Sorry for that. But I also hope there will be someone like this story.The original work was wrote in Chinese. It was auto-translated by DeepL (https://www.deepl.com/translator)AU, Arthur died, and before that, he asked Alfred to avenge for him.
Relationships: America & Canada & England (Hetalia), America/Russia (Hetalia), England & Japan (Hetalia), England/France (Hetalia), France/Russia (Hetalia)
Kudos: 7





	A Long Sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [长眠不醒](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28280832) by [nightoye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightoye/pseuds/nightoye). 



One.

"I will arrange everything for you, wealth and position. There is only one thing you have to do: avenge me."

Alfred felt the gun sink in his hand, as if to remind him of the weight of the resolve he had made, and he checked the trigger and the magazine while his mind was full of things that concerned him, things that were unusual. He had to see the Japanese man first, the guy he'd met at Arthur's funeral, and hell knows how he'd turned up. After some not-so-pleasant conversation, Kiku Honda reminded him that maybe it was time for him and Matthew to find a way to cover their tracks, that the guys he had originally organised were planning a plan to get rid of the two of them.

Arthur was right, those guys wouldn't simply leave the two of them alone. With the last bit of shelter that the Kirkland name could offer gone, Alfred and Matthew would be nothing more than two nuisances left by a betrayer to a strange family they had never met.

Someone would have come to assassinate them, except that Honda seemed to have no such intention, and when asked he only said that he was a friend of Arthur's. Of course, for people like them, "friend" meant a good, contractual exchange of benefits. Arthur had mentioned him as the heir to some Japanese gang leader who had worked with him for a time in England. Alfred had suspected that his presence was part of Arthur's plan, but Honda had smiled and neither admitted nor denied it.

Well, he hated these ambiguous Japs.

He slid his pistol into his belt and concealed it under his loose overcoat. He looked at himself in the mirror, the long trench coat and the slight maturity of his outfit had raised his age up a notch, making him look less like a nippy nineteen year old. Satisfied with his current self, Al opened the door and walked into the living room, where Matthew was sitting on the sofa.

"I'm going, Matt."

Matthew's purple eyes looked at him seriously through the lenses of his glasses, "Are you sure you don't want me to come along?"

"It's okay, I'm just going to have a chat with him over tea, it's not like I'm going to a duel." Alfred said with a smile. "I think we'll have to get used to splitting up some of the time too."

His brother nodded, Alfred was always the one calling the shots, Matthew was practically like his shadow, but this was what allowed them to be closer to each other. Al covered the door and walked the ten minutes to the Japanese restaurant that Honda had said he would visit, as agreed. After he gave his name, a small girl clerk in a kimono guided him to a private room in the back. Kikuya Honda sat alone in his kimono on his knees on the tatami. Al took a closer look at him; none of these Asians could tell their age and, unlike Matthew's type whose presence was naturally thin, Honda was like one of those people who deliberately collected himself, very quiet and at one with the whole environment.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jones." The moment Al stepped into the room, Honda spoke.

"Do I need to kneel here ... ?" Al studied the tatami, and Kiku Honda in that sitting position that seemed so awkward to him.

"There are places to put your feet under the table." Honda said with a smile.

Alfred sat down opposite him and sure enough there was a hole under the table for an American like him, who was not accustomed to Japanese etiquette, to put his feet in, and to be honest, they had thought of something. Al couldn't help but feel an enigmatic respect for that people he didn't even know.

"This is the first time I've been to a Japanese restaurant." He said. The three of them used to go to American fast food restaurants most often actually, or else Matthew was in charge of the cooking at home - the other two made disastrous stuff, while Matthew could at least get the food to a standard that wouldn't kill him if he ate it.

"It doesn't look like Mr Kirkland's cooking skills have improved much." Honda said.

"You've eaten his cooking?" Al was very surprised, if that was the case, Arthur had been quite good to him.

"No, just heard others mention it." Honda smiled faintly once again.

"So ... why are you suddenly there? I mean, how did you find out about Arthur's death?"

"For the first time in years, he contacted me." Riku said. "I haven't told anyone else about the call yet. He told me that he had adopted two children in America, you and your brother. I was deeply surprised by this because for so many years I thought Mr. Kirkland was either dead or alive alone and definitely did not expect him to have anyone else around ... Oh but, it's a good thing for him I guess."

"... Why do you say that?" Al examined him quickly.

"It's good for anyone to have family around."

Alfred lapsed into silence.

"I'm not sure that's what he thinks." He thought for a moment and then smiled bitterly. "He rarely spoke of himself. But he has mentioned you as a ... friend."

"Oh ... ?" Honda's eyes lit up for a moment, and Al suddenly felt what seemed to be a different kind of emotion in that soft voice. "Did he mention anyone else from his past ... ?"

"Like who?" Alfred fought to think. "He mentioned a lot of people connected to the gang, their records and stuff ... "

"Like Francis Bonnefoy."

Alfred's surprised expression made it clear he'd never heard of the man, not once.

Honda rubbed his hand over his brow and sighed.

"So that's how it is ... " he said thoughtfully. "And indeed it should be so ... "

"What kind of man is this? Is he important?" Alfred trailed off quickly.

"No, probably not important." Honda said. "But he is one of the reasons for Mr. Kirkland's revenge."

Two.

Three days later, Kiku Honda had arranged the appropriate flights and travel documents for them, and everything was in order.

Now Alfred realised that although the Japanese appeared cold on the surface, he definitely had a life-long friendship with Arthur Kirkland, otherwise he wouldn't have come over to take care of everything for him just because of a phone call from Arthur before he died. Although he could also see that there was an element of interest in Honda helping himself: using him to spell out a rival gang's pawn, it was still too much to do anyway. Riku didn't seem too keen to explain his reasons for doing what he did, and just calmly accepted Alfred's thanks for his time.

He and Matthew looked into the name Honda had mentioned before they left, but couldn't find any clues. They didn't know which country it was from, how old he was, and whether he was now alive or dead. Honda dismissed it by saying, "It's an insignificant person". As Alfred sat on the plane, the question suddenly came back to him.

Beside him, Matthew was reading a flying magazine and Al pressed his book.

"Matt, what kind of a guy do you think that Bonnefoy is anyway?"

Matthew, whose reading had been interrupted, looked at him helplessly, Alfred's serious expression letting him know that the guy would never stop until he got an answer.

"It's a French surname, probably a Frenchman." Matthew said. "Incidentally, Arthur speaks French."

"SHIT, why didn't I know that?"

"Because he only speaks to me." Matthew said.

"I can't believe you don't care enough to tell me things like that!" Alfred exclaimed bitterly. "He's simply biased towards you!"

"Oh, come on." Matthew laughed. "He didn't promise me everything in this world."

"He's just trying to use me." Alfred said grimly. "In fact, he didn't tell us anything ... Even Bonnefoy is a man I first heard about from someone else."

"You're just minding that latter thing." Matthew pointed this out obnoxiously.

Alfred let go of his book and craned his head to look out the porthole window, where the setting sun was just outside his window, reflecting a large sea of tumbling golden clouds. He loved the colour, and there was no one who didn't love a magnificent sunset. Arthur, too, used to sit by the gold-tinted window, as if lost in a confused light, sometimes with a book in his hand, sometimes with a cigarette. But he had actually held a gun and killed a man with these steady hands. More than once Alfred tried to find out more, but he always evaded it.

Even when his life was in danger, Al never got a single memory of the past in him. Arthur taught Al that he must look forward and never dwell on the past, and he demanded the same of himself. Shortly afterwards he refused better treatment and moved from the hospital back to their temporary home, saying that he would have preferred to die there even if it hadn't been a nice place. It was only during that time that he stopped always treating his two young brothers in a strict way, and he made Al move his hospital bed to the window, where he could see the sky and the roses blooming in someone else's yard. The window was always closed and he looked away whenever he was awake, both the midday sun and the midnight darkness falling unobstructed onto that dying face. Alfred felt absurdly like a crucified saint, but unfortunately there were no devout worshippers to kiss him. There was only him and his other half, about to be abandoned to this cold human world.

Arthur did not try to escape this fear, he had been tormented for too long by years of illness and regrets of the past. Al's last memory of him was of him closing his eyes as if in a deep sleep and stopping breathing. Death came softly, like a guest, and kissed his eyes and lips, closing them like the pages of a book that no one could ever open again.

Three.

The process was smoother than he could have imagined.

Hooking up with the people involved, joining the gang, gaining everyone's trust, it all came so easily.

The only problem was that another person came into his life. This man was called Ivan Blaginsky. Alfred met him at a party where this guy was attending as a "friend of the boss". The party ended in a shoot-out, with Matthew's sniper rifle shooting the boss through the head. Alfred looked around the hall, adding shots to those who were still alive, when he noticed that one of the men had escaped at first.

Damn, he cursed himself. Luckily Matthew was at a distance out of everyone's reach and should be in time to make up for that mistake.

"Mr. Jones." That's when he heard a soft voice from behind the drapery of the ballroom. "I don't mean to get in your way, perhaps we should talk about this now."

He thought for a moment and made a gesture towards the window, meaning for Matthew to stay put for the moment. He had regretted this decision he had made countless times afterwards.

"Say, Mr. Braginsky, do you have a favour to ask of me?" Alfred said.

"I know about your relationship with Arthur Kirkland and the reason you're doing this today."

"... Oh?"

"Thirteen years ago, there was a firefight in this city. It couldn't have been more normal for this Sodom." Ivan said from behind the curtain. "The reason was that someone had betrayed what used to be the biggest gang in this place. And he did what our kind hates the most, handed over a lot of information and evidence to the cops. In the end, most of the gang's forces had to quit the city, keep fleeing, and have not suspended their pursuit of him."

Alfred suddenly remembered his first meeting with Arthur, when, as a young boy, he saw a man falling on the side of the road covered in blood with a gun in his hand. But he wasn't scared at all then for some reason, and leaned towards the gun. Perhaps it was because he was so hungry at the time that he wanted to pick up something for food, and it would have been nice if the dying man still had money on him. Then Arthur's eyes suddenly snapped open and stared hard at him. The eyes of some kind of wounded beast.

But Alfred remained undeterred; they were destined to meet. He led Arthur to their hideout and in exchange Arthur gave him money to buy some food, as well as medicine and bandages to treat his wounds.

Perhaps he had intended to leave the next day, but the enemies who came after him on that occasion did not survive in the end, so he stayed with the two brothers for some time. Alfred had the audacity to ask him to touch his gun, and Arthur not only agreed, but also taught him how to shoot. But he also said, "I hope you never have to use it," with a gentle smile in his eyes. Al couldn't help but think at that moment that he was actually a very nice man, at least to himself.

Then he left without a word, but some time later he reappeared in front of the two brothers, looking much cleaner and more decent than last time. By some magic he had also regained his money and his identity, and then adopted Alfred and his brother in his own name. Every so often, however, they moved to another town, and Arthur remained careful not to mix with any of the neighbours. He sent both men to school and taught them the use of guns and how to kill. For a while he seems to hope that Al will escape this way of life, but Alfred himself is drawn into his past and gradually steps into a dangerous spiral.

That is, until Arthur once sternly lashes out at him after finding him drinking in secret and going out to fight with the local punks. After this happened again and again, Al finally had a showdown with him.

Arthur, you know the kind of guy I am. I can't be an honest man who goes to work and has kids. I just wanted to live a life of doing bad things and then getting away with it, just like you do.

"Do you understand what that is?" Arthur sneered. "Playing for keeps with your head in your trousers every day, that's what you want?"

"So what, that's what I've been doing since the day I met you."

I'm never going back to the old days.

Alfred thought to himself, that's what he had sworn to himself ever since he had 'acquired' Arthur. He would not let himself and his brothers go hungry again, he would not be hurt or despised, he would not be afraid, he wanted to have the power to trample the world under his feet. He was a genius and ruthless, and he knew exactly what he could get. The only obstacle was that he had to gain the trust of Arthur himself, just as the barbarian tribesmen had done in the past, defeating a certain warrior to complete his bar mitzvah. He was confident that he would accomplish it.

The cold confrontation with each other was shattered by a sudden cough from Arthur. He had once had a bullet in his lung. After finally breaking free from the fit, Arthur's face turned pale as he looked up at the teenager in front of him.

"Well. Maybe it's all my fault ... " he said softly. "I don't know how to give you a different life than I did ... "

He looks so fragile, maybe I should hug him. Alfred thought compassionately. He stood unmoving.

Four.

Alfred's movements were not interrupted by the sudden memory as he raised his gun and aimed at the curtain.

"I've known these things for a long time." He said in a deliberately impatient tone. "Get to the point."

"And did he ever mention to you why he did it?"

"What else would it be for? For profit." Alfred said.

"I see." That was followed by a soft chuckle. "He probably wouldn't even dare to tell you about Francis Bonoverture."

Alfred heard the name a second time, still surprised, terrified and annoyed.

"Who is this man?" He said.

"A friend of mine. If you put the gun down, I can talk to you properly about him."

Alfred agreed.

In fact from the first time he had heard of the man he had had a vague feeling that the emotions Arthur occasionally exuded had something to do with the man. Kiku Honda's statement had given him the impression that the man seemed very important, too important for Arthur to mention his name.

They left the ballroom and the two left the scene on foot, Al gesturing in passing for Matthew to evacuate as well, leaving the matter after that to the stripes. Of course, the greater likelihood was that the matter would simply be swept under the carpet. They walked up the riverbank of this city, the wide river flowing slowly forward, the illuminated docks behind them and the barren darkness ahead. Alfred felt that the man beside him was taller and stronger than he was, and wondered if he was carrying a gun.

Ivan Braginsky should be dangerous.

The thought slipped through his mind, as did the look in Arthur's eyes when he first witnessed him, and knew that Arthur was a dangerous man.

But all the same, Alfred was not frightened, the "dangerous" trait was just interesting to him. Perhaps he himself was the most dangerous of all.

"Actually, that guy appeared in the city out of nowhere." Ivan said.

"Oh." Al said.

"But he's not a gangster, he's a very ordinary dumbass, an investigative reporter for a newspaper here."

Alfred seemed to have guessed something.

"One time he found out something about ... police corruption? Councillors being paid off? Whatever, I can't remember much from over a decade ago." Braginsky said blandly. "Anyway, anyone else might have known what was at stake, but Bonnefoy... is French, by the way, and I should have mentioned that. Anyway, he's just been transferred here not long ago and probably doesn't know anything about what we do here yet."

"And then he found his way to your gang's head? That's an unexpectedly uninteresting story."

"Pretty much, he'd been looking into it for a while and seemed to find out about us, could have just taken the guy out, but the boss at the time didn't want to make a big deal out of someone who didn't matter, so he told Kirkland to shut him up ... As far as methods go, pay a fortune, threaten him by force, or threaten his family or something It doesn't matter. Of course, Arthur Kirkland had been doing things so well up until that point that no one thought he would go wrong. After that, Kirkland came back and reported that the problem was solved. Sure enough Bonnefoy didn't poke our man out again after that. But the boss seemed to pick up on some sort of perversion and asked me to get to know and test the guy as well."

Ivan was suddenly silent for a moment, looking up at the empty front.

"And then I got to meet him."

"Oh?"

"And, very coincidentally, I recognized him. We both grew up in the same orphanage." Ivan said.

"Is that really a coincidence?" Alfred said somewhat perceptively.

"Who knows, I didn't hear anything about him many years ago, except that he was adopted by someone. I didn't recognise him because back then he didn't have a surname and there were very many people called Francis. Growing up he was different, so I always remembered the man.

"Francis seemed prepared and he recognised me too, smiling and greeting me, saying it had been a long time. I asked him back what it was all about. So the guy said, 'Ivan, you understand too, I just want to end it all.'

"At first I didn't understand what he meant. Then I went up to the café at his invitation and surprisingly the Kirkland guy was there and when he saw me his face turned very ugly all of a sudden." Ivan laughed dryly twice. "I sat down in front of him and pulled out my gun under the table and pointed it at him, so I guess he did the same thing. Francis was also gracious enough to sit next to Kirkland, and it seems the idiot had no idea that the two of us were contemplating taking each other's lives. If the guy had shown the slightest sign of betrayal, I would have shot him in a heartbeat - or he would have snatched me up and silenced me here.

"Then, to my surprise, Francis smiled, threw Arthur's head around, kissed him on the eye and said, 'You'd never guess, would you, darling, that I'd actually met my old friend Ivan from before.' I was so confused by the situation that I just had to say nothing while the Kirkland guy lifted his eyes to stare at me squeezing out a fake smile and saying polite things as if we were really meeting for the first time. Well, I didn't know how I was supposed to tell the truth in front of Francis, so I just echoed his words and shook the guy's hand.

"Francis introduced me and said that Arthur was his lover, and you'll never guess how hard Kirkland's face looked at the time. Of course, I probably wasn't much better. Francis is a man who knows no shame, I should have known that, but I would never have guessed that he would make out with a man like nobody's business in front of anyone else."

Alfred fantasised about Arthur being held in someone's arms and making out like nobody's business and felt like he'd been struck by lightning, the sweat on his entire body standing back up.

"Huh, huh." He struggled to laugh. "So they're in this relationship? How did it come to this?"

"I don't know." Ivan said. "I don't know what there is about Arthur Kirkland to make him like either. An uneducated punk, selfish and mean, with a look and build like that. If I was a faggot I'd never have picked him."

"Is there something about Francis Bonnefoy that's worthy of his liking?" Alfred couldn't help asking. He hated it when Ivan criticised Arthur, although perhaps he was right about everything.

"When we were still in that orphanage, something happened." Ivan suddenly changed the subject. "There were some scum among the administrators ... back then who were hardwired in. That's the way it is in our city, there aren't many things worthy of being called 'human'. Those of us who were constantly starving and being physically punished were no big deal. In those days Francis was very good looking, fair skinned, almost like a girl. He was often called in by the men and came back covered in bruises and not saying a word. Nowadays you can probably guess what he was going through, but we weren't old enough to understand those things then. The other children actively isolated him and he was largely silent except for the occasional conversation with me. By the time he was nine, he was adopted and I hadn't seen him since, until this time."

Alfred bit his lip, "And then what?"

"So that's why Francis is obsessed with coming back to the city. He wants to change this place." Ivan said softly. "I asked him if it was for revenge or for justice, but he said neither, he just came to say goodbye to the past. It seemed understandable to me that that darkest of times shaped us, that no matter how hard we tried, we couldn't break free from that misery, and gradually we got used to it, decided that the world was that way, and that no matter how we moved forward, we would end up back on that old path. This is life, and I had resigned myself to it, and Francis seemed to want to get rid of it by some means. Then I said, 'You used Kirkland for that purpose?' He said, 'Yeah, that's a great guy to use'.

"That's a funny thing if anyone else said it, Kirkland was very shrewd and well known in our area, otherwise he wouldn't have been the boss's right-hand man. But that meeting made me realise that he was in love with Francis, and more than he understood himself to be."

"How?" Alfred said. "On what matter do you base such a conclusion?"

"Do you need evidence for such things?" Ivan said impatiently. "A glance is all it takes to know. And the only thing I was concerned about was Francis' plan. After that Kirkland investigated the orphanage thing back in the day and handed some people over to the cops. But the boss at the time backed him up, after all, that kind of thing breaks our rules ... "

"According to you, you were in the orphanage at the time, so why didn't you go for revenge?"

"Actually none of that matters." Ivan looked back at him. "I've always found you people who cling to the past boring."

Five.

Alfred would always remember the look in Ivan's eyes at that moment. To many years later, he would still often think of the way the lights reflected in Ivan's eyes. For the first time he found in this elusive man something steady, something that could be read, something that held him firmly in its grip. He found that Ivan was actually quite good-looking, with square features and powerful eyes and movements. For a moment he thought that Bonnefoy was indeed blind, and that he would have chosen Ivan over Arthur in his place. Unless that guy Bonnefoy would find emotions more hurtful than reason, but how could that be possible?

They also talked a lot, about their past in the mob, and Ivan didn't seem to mind much recalling it all to him. From him, Alfred learned the story of Francis Bonnefoy's later life. After some plans that Ivan knew nothing about had been carried out, his adulterous affair with Arthur finally came to light, so the boss commanded that he be taken back to headquarters and tortured. Francis confessed - giving Ivan's name. In order to cover up for the man who had really fallen in love with him and carried out the plan, Francis had painfully betrayed his childhood playmate.

Ivan was smiling when he said it, and Al really couldn't tell if his feelings were anger, pain or genuine pleasure.

"Did you ever love him?" The brief thought crossed his mind. That was when Ivan stopped in his tracks.

"My house is here, would you like to come up and sit?"

Alfred sent a text message to Matthew from the phone hidden in his pocket. He hesitated for a moment, then nodded his head. If Ivan really wanted to do something strange, there was no need to tell such a long and boring story.

The recounting of the past was briefly interrupted as Ivan took Al back to his home. He lives alone, in an old house, and as an important gang leader his house doesn't even have a man to answer the door. Alfred pointed this out bluntly and Ivan shrugged, "It was the house of the family that adopted me later, I never wanted to move out."

The living room did look full of old grandmothers, with its wool tapestries, fireplace, wall clock, Madonna in the shrine and candlesticks on the table, but the room was cleaned up well. The carved coffee table was wooden and there was a tea set on it that had fallen to dust. Ivan obviously wouldn't have used them, tea being too unsuitable a drink for him. Sure enough after he sat down Ivan went into the kitchen and took two cups and a bottle of vodka out of it.

"Are you of age?" He asked Al.

Alfred nodded and Ivan gave him a deep look and reentered the kitchen to get out a carton of milk and made a point of putting it in the microwave for a while to heat it up.

Alfred: "... "

Ivan poured the milk into his glass and Al sat up, staring at the taller man with annoyance, "Do you take me for a child?"

"Pretty much." Ivan took a slow, deliberate seat across from him and blew on the bottle of vodka. "I don't have anything else at home for you to drink."

"You wouldn't have poisoned it, would you?"

"I did." Ivan said.

Al stared at the glass of milk for a moment. It was like some kind of test - he suddenly felt he shouldn't gamble on the matter - and took the glass and drank the glass of milk in. The warm liquid slid down his throat and he realised just how cold his hands and body were. The cold breeze from the river had blown all the way back on their walk. Alfred noticed from the glass that his face and the tip of his nose were flushed red and he looked more like a child.

Ivan had put down his bottle and was silently surveying him. In the light, everything about the young man was unabashedly bared. Bright blue eyes, a forehead favoured by the goddess of youth, lips that seemed ready to curl into a carefree smile, a strong, powerful body. He smiled unconcernedly at the murder, blithely judging all the unsavoury past about Arthur, Francis and Ivan, beautiful and extraordinarily cruel. Ivan sighed softly as the breath of age passed through his throat and that bitterness that had so often nagged at him churned inside again. He was unhappy, not of the same world as Alfred.

Al caught his stare too.

"Are you going to keep the story going?" He said. "You've just got to the most important part."

"I'm sick of you making demands like you take them for granted." Ivan said. "It's up to me to decide if I want to go on next."

"Wh-" Alfred's brow furrowed into a frown and he had to try to quell his anger. After all, it wasn't helping to achieve his purpose. "Well, it was only supposed to be inconsequential anyway. Thank you for wasting our time all night for nothing."

"Your business isn't over yet, is it. You need someone to stand up for you in this city and hunt down the others on the list in the meantime. I thought we had a lot of things we could work on together."

Ivan suddenly got businesslike and Alfred was stunned.

"It's just that I can't really think of any reason to help you." Ivan's eyes continued to sweep back and forth over Al's body. "You're Kirkland's heir and just as annoying as he is. I want nothing to do with you, even if it's out of personal affection."

Al bullied his way up to him when he wasn't looking and snatched up the bottle of vodka. He provocatively unscrewed the cap and took a large swig into his mouth. He swallowed the pungent liquid and his face flushed a deeper shade of red. But he still had a death gaze on Ivan.

"You can sleep with me." He flashed a sweet smile.

Six.

Alfred was confident in himself, and he knew Ivan would falter. Had he refused, he would have put a bullet in the vodka bastard's head.

Luckily such a thing didn't happen, Ivan Blaginsky was an informed and sensible man.

It was another day before Matthew waited for Alfred to return, and unlike what had been envisaged, Al was in a refreshed state of mind and upon meeting him declared that there had been a major development and that he had pulled in Blaginsky and his forces. Matthew said well I'm happy for you, but inwardly he was swirling with questions, he didn't know how Al had done it and the other man didn't seem to want to explain.

But afterwards Al said he was making progress with his investigation into Bonnefoy's identity and suggested hacking into the police station's system to investigate the situation, and the two men were so busy tinkering with their computers that Matthew just had to put the question behind him for the moment.

They found out about Francis. Ivan really hadn't lied, the official information about him was exactly the same as what had been said at the river. The official records had him dying in a fire, a year before Al and Matthew had met Arthur. It was certainly not as simple as that, but no further records were kept. The first time Alfred saw a photograph of the man, he instantly felt that Ivan was overstating the case. No amount of filtering would have allowed him to sense an ounce of merit in the face. It was an identity photo, with long, light blond, slightly curly hair, eyes the colour of violets looking straight into the camera, a slight stubble on his chin, in his late twenties - that was all Alfred could remember of this man, who had neither the model's appearance nor the elegance that would have brought him into the story of his thrilling relationship with Arthur's thrilling love story.

Perhaps I've got something wrong, Alfred muttered in his mind. Maybe this face would look better from a different angle, with a different expression, as people in ID photos always look stupid. Still, he couldn't help thinking that Ivan's aesthetic was actually quite mediocre.

He suddenly felt that the story had become tasteless and simply turned off his computer. Later, he forgot to ask Ivan about the ending.

Alfred found Ivan to be one of the few things in his life that he didn't have to share with Matthew, and that gave him great satisfaction. He felt guilty for his brother for a moment, after which he resolutely put it behind him. He had become enamoured with Ivan, a man as old as Arthur, to a degree beyond the control of his own reason. He wanted Ivan to enter him, from behind, from in front, in different ways, to make him spellbound and out of control. But they basically just do errands and rarely talk. Ivan, a man whose life was unexpectedly very boring, wouldn't even look at the TV much when he had nothing to do, let alone surf the net, and mostly just leaned against the window with a book in his hand, slowly turning the pages with his steady hands.

Al saw that the titles on the pages were in Russian and asked him what he was reading. Ivan came up with a list of names he had never heard of. Alfred rubbed his forehead and sighed and said, "Are you a professor of literature? Ivan smiled and said, "No, I'm a philosopher, the university here should hire me to teach them about life and death. Alfred laughed out loud, his eyes glistening with tears of joy as he climbed on top of Ivan, kissing him on the lips, scratching his back and shoulders, pressing his body against him. He sank his fingers between Ivan's soft hair and felt that tangled scent. Ivan stroked him in return, from his neck to his high shoulder blades to his sensitive waistline, occasionally leaving rough marks, though neither of them cared in the slightest.

Step by step he was approaching the pinnacle of what he wanted in this city. Alfred had known from the day he arrived that he was going to rule the city. He took over most of the underground business here and gradually built up his own power. Kiku Honda came by a few times to talk to him about more partnerships and business, and both were very happy with the benefits they were getting.

"I really don't know why I have to dress up like this." Alfred frowned as he looked at himself in the mirror. "Arthur never mentioned anything like that."

"It seems there are parts of your education that he gave you that are missing." Ivan stood behind him and straightened his bow tie.

Al caught a glimpse of him in the mirror. Taller than himself, his pale blond hair was naturally soft, his profile hard but unexpectedly not rugged. Ivan, now also dressed in a proper gown, looked poised and had something that these false niceties couldn't disguise. He smiled gently and Al's heart pricked, once again thinking about what was hidden in all those smiles.

"I've always wondered what you thought of Arthur." He turned around. "You two weren't on good terms back then, were you, and Francis betrayed you for him."

"Really, we didn't really have much of a conflict of interest before." Ivan said. "And, even that thing with Francis, I wasn't actually angry. Francis said to everyone that it was me who did that. In other words, admitting in public that he loved me and not him, and do you know how much he suffered for that?"

Alfred's eyes widened in shock. Of course he knew how Arthur spent the days that followed. He tossed and turned in the long nights, waking up constantly. He often coughed up blood, the result of an injured lung. Alfred could do nothing but watch the person he trusted and depended on most intimately in the world die little by little.

But Ivan just spoke up with such carelessness.

"Why do you ... want to hurt him like this?" Alfred blurted out. "He's the most important person to me and doesn't deserve to die there at all! You know ... " He suddenly had trouble organising his words for a moment, and Ivan gave him a pitying look.

"Did you ask yourself that when you killed the others?" He said mockingly. "Both you and Kirkland are in fact incorrigible scum who think only that your own suffering is of paramount importance, when in fact that would have been what you deserved. If Mr Kirkland were honest enough, he would confess to you the names of the innocent people he has killed, how he has broken into the homes of the poor and forced them to give up their last possessions, how he has lured desperate people into desperate acts, how he has done everything wrong and shirked his responsibility. You, on the other hand, are another of the demons he raised to plague the unfortunate and good people of this world."

"You don't say that like you're a good person who doesn't eat the world. Don't you do the same things we do?" Al sneered.

"But I'm self-conscious about it." Ivan was at peace with himself. "How do you know I haven't tried to get away from that? But really, my idea was to let that all go to hell, and God could just throw mountains on fire at my head so I wouldn't have to labor to punish myself. Whatever hell I'm about to face, it doesn't matter to me."

The two of them just stared at each other until the banquet waiter pushed his way in to tell them it was time. Alfred laughed suddenly and threw his arms out.

"It's not nice for people to see us fighting over a little thing." He said.

Ivan sighed and took his outstretched hand, looking as if he and he were a loving couple.

"You'll never be able to compete with Bonnefoy." He whispered in Al's ear with unusual tenderness and unusual malice.

Alfred's whole body trembled and that smile seemed to freeze on his face.

Seven.

Al had been ashamed of himself afterwards. He had always followed Arthur's teachings to the letter, but this time he had made a mistake. And it was one that Kiku Honda had specifically warned him about. When we first met, Honda said to him, "Mr. Kirkland also asked me to pass on a message to you, which I hope you will never forget." It was that phrase that built Al's trust in him.

That was, "Don't be angry in front of the enemy."

Arthur had explained it to him in detail.

"Generally speaking, this emotion can cause you to lose your sense of reality and unload your inner defences. And this emotion implies a defence against inner fear, so that to be angry before your enemy means that you are a weakling and that you cannot control yourself. At best, he will despise you; at worst, he will feel organic. So never express such feelings in front of an enemy or negotiator. Unless you are deliberately trying to paralyse someone some of the time."

He realised that Braginsky had actually done the same thing. Long experience had turned this into instinct. It was the reason why Alfred could sense his danger. No matter how much weakness he had in his heart, he would never have bared it unguarded.

Another lesson learned, indeed. Alfred thought. Back at Ivan's place after the boring high-society socializing, he had become as good as new. He offered the two of them a truce, straddling Ivan and letting him unbutton himself. Ivan rubbed his head and smiled, "For your age, you can really bend."

"So what." Alfred said. "Do you think I care about Bonnefoy? No, I've read about him a long time ago, he's just a regular guy, no power, no nothing, and dead for over ten years. I only feel sorry for you."

He craned his neck slightly so that Ivan could see that he was still alive, and young and handsome, full of ambition and power. The living did not have to compete with the dead; the living were supposed to win.

"Pity me, why?" Ivan seemed to find it amusing.

"You must hate Arthur so much because you're jealous of him, because he's the one Francis loves."

"It seems to me that you are mistaken. I don't feel that way ... about Francis," Ivan sighed. "Never mind, it's my fault for even comparing you to him."

"And what does that say?" Alfred stopped what he was doing and looked at him curiously.

"I never wanted to sleep with him. If I wanted to sleep with someone, there are ways ... Kirkland is different, he only gets hard with Francis. With anyone else he'd probably have a sexual dysfunction."

Al looked oddly thoughtful for a while and nodded, "So, it's ... a friendship between you and Francis?"

Ivan was stunned.

"Am I wrong?" Al had an innocent look on his face. "And you're not handicapped and you don't want to fuck him, so it's just friends, like Arthur and Honda."

"... Yeah, that's probably it." Ivan laughed out loud and pulled Alfred into his arms. "Yes, the kind of friendship that's big and pure and unadulterated and holy."

Ivan Blaginsky closed the last page of the novel he was reading and set it down. He looked contemplatively at the statue of Our Lady in the living room. It had been left by the previous head of the family, an eccentric, withdrawn old woman who had never married in her life. Ivan would have inherited her property, but in the end most of it had been divided between her two nieces, leaving Ivan with this somewhat forlorn old house. However, he was happy with what he had been given and had always loved her. He stood up and put the books back in the study, in the cupboard where he also kept the pistol, but it was just a decoration, the real gun was hidden in another cupboard. Ivan took it out and walked downstairs, walking slowly along the same river path he had walked with Alfred before.

Al had gone back early, no matter how late he actually stayed, no matter how tired he was after things were over, and he would never fall asleep next to Ivan unguarded. The two men knew each other's boundaries well, and there was a wall that could not be stepped over.

But yesterday he was so distinctly likeable. He had long since accepted this silly, conceited side of Al, and had even become a little enamoured of it.

Then Ivan suddenly felt kinda sick at the thought, as if as this relationship progressed, he too had been infected with Alfred's frivolous and nasty virus. How could he have so casually voiced his thoughts about Francis? He had once worshipped Francis like a god, and yet he had betrayed that love so simply. After ten years, this dusty emotion was worthless in the face of beautiful young flesh that even he wanted to dig up and ridicule.

"Would things have been different if I had been the first person you had reunited with?"

"No."

"Why can you be so sure? Isn't love inspired by some kind of chance?"

"Love is when you meet the person who is meant to be at a fortuitous time. Besides, I could discuss life, philosophy, art with you like this and you'd fall in love with me? In fact, you just like your solitude. Arthur is a realist, he doesn't love me for all that, he just loves me for what he can see and touch in myself, not his imagination of love or the fancy words of artists. That is the hardest thing to do, I would respect him even if I didn't love him. It took him being gentle with me not to reveal me for what I am, but I know he has accepted me for all I am."

Then Francis said: maybe one day you will find someone like that too. He won't necessarily write poetry for you, but he will set your heart free from now on.

That would be the best.

Yet Francis, how can you be sure that there is a second man to forgive us sinners?

Ivan's thoughts were temporarily interrupted and he found himself walking to the door of the same church he had been in back then. He looked to the people there, and once again a vivid scene was playing out before his eyes. There were always questions running after him, from his youth, to the first time he held a gun, to the countless times he had tried to say goodbye to the past, to the sudden burning emotions that flared up inside him when he saw Arthur and Francis clinging to each other. He was not jealous of Arthur's ability to gain Francis' admiration, but he was jealous that he alone had gained the freedom he wanted. How could Alfred, a little monster who had fallen into hell long ago, understand such feelings? Ivan Blaginsky was not born to kill; who would start life as a thief, a gambler, a robber and an executioner? Who would have known that the road to the future would lead not to a beautiful heaven but to an eternal emptiness?

He took one look at the cross in the church and turned his head away. The Father in heaven was still watching him, perhaps still waiting to forgive him. But he walked away anyway. He was not worthy.

Eight.

"Matt, isn't it almost the end?"

Alfred said abruptly.

He had just finished meeting someone and was lying aimlessly on the couch in the middle of the room. The text message on his phone had just been deleted. It was the first time he had ever felt this way ... as if the time had finally come for this long story to end.

The final target: Ivan Braginsky.

He couldn't and didn't have to live. But if necessary, Alfred could reward him with a bullet himself and send him to a peaceful and quiet death.

By pursuing a number of people and evidence from his past, he had learned many things that Ivan had not told him. Including how Ivan had provided the boss with details of Arthur's whereabouts after Francis died that year, how he had shot him in the chest, and how he had provoked him with what had happened to Francis. Many people saw it, after all, he didn't have to hide when dealing with traitors.

He had been on the list from the start, and Arthur's hatred was not in the least bit less than his.

Alfred had made the final arrangements, he would meet Ivan at a place to discuss things that would not make him suspicious, while Matthew brought his sniper rifle to back up afterwards. Killing Ivan shouldn't be difficult, he had little defence whenever he was in Al's presence. The only problem was how to take over Ivan's original forces, which would require a much better plan ... He was suddenly a little soft, he was about to kill the guy, and it was okay to miss him for a while, right?

He would remember Ivan, would bury him next to the chapel he loved, would bring sunflowers to see him, would place these heavy flowers with their bright, warm yellow on his grave. Does Ivan know yet that sunflowers represent silent love?

Matthew looked at him and said, "You seem tired, go and get some sleep."

"What will happen to us afterwards?" Alfred lifted his own hand to his eyes and looked at it. "I thought I'd be more content getting all this, but instead, I feel nothing, I still feel so empty ... Will I really get what I want if I go down this road?"

"I remember asking you that question at the time." Matthew whispered. He'd asked it at Arthur's grave. Although Matthew was still young too, he always knew that revenge was a road to hell, and that none of those who set out on that road came back in one piece, only Alfred would be so righteous. He didn't think much of it either, being there for Al was all he wanted to do.

"He asked me that question once when we were very young." Al answered. "He said he thought I was quite capable of living on my own, that he could travel around on his own and usually send us some money so we wouldn't be in danger so easily. But I refused. He asked you too, didn't he? What did you answer?"

"I said that I would think what Al thought, and that he was much more capable than I was." Matthew smiled faintly. "Then after that he heard your answer and decided to stay."

"And my answer at the time was that I wasn't afraid. What's so scary about dying, I don't even know why I was born." Alfred closed his eyes ... he had wanted to ask this question all his life. He didn't know why he was wandering, why he was living, why he was struggling. At the end of life there was nothing but an emptiness, a darkness, and that was the gift of life itself. "But it's different with you around, it's like my life has meaning."

Arthur looked at him wordlessly, his eyes moist. It was the only time in his life Alfred had ever seen him in tears.

How could they lose each other.

Nine.

Ivan was waiting for him in the chapel he had agreed on earlier, and Al felt odd the moment he stepped into the chapel; there was no one in it, only Ivan standing under the cross, gazing upwards. The moment the door opened he looked back.

"Al, it occurs to me that I haven't told you the end of the story." He said.

"I could have guessed it all, actually." Alfred suddenly felt that something wasn't quite right with Ivan, couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. He stared at Ivan closely for a long moment before he said. "Why are you dressed so nicely today?"

"I'm always very formal when I come to church." Ivan said.

"Do you usually come a lot?"

"No. Francis Bonnefoy died here."

Al glanced subconsciously at the church floor, which was clean and free of blood.

"I was suspected and locked up for a while because of his confession. When the boss finally decided to execute him, he brought us all here. I could barely recognise Francis at that point. He looked miserable, his face was all bruised and he had been dragged up. Kirkland, and several others, were also present. The boss publicly announced that he was going to be executed here. You might not have thought we used to have a rule that we liked to go to church and worship before we killed someone. The hypocrites."

"Arthur watched too?" Al asked.

"That's right, the reason for having everyone come and watch was that I wasn't the only one suspected, so he was to be left dead in front of everyone, as a way of seeing how everyone reacted. The whole thing lasted a ... quarter of an hour, I think. Kirkland's acting was so impeccable that he didn't move a muscle the whole time as if he were dead."

Alfred felt for the gun in his coat pocket and he didn't move, "And you?"

"I didn't do anything either. Al, I've been sick and tired of it all since that day. Humans are such vile, obscene and selfish creatures, God is here watching over them and here they are doing such things. That's why I've come to assist you. Presumably, this is some kind of justice ... and it's what Francis himself wants: to bring this to an end. Incidentally, do you believe in God?"

"'God is dead'." Alfred said mockingly. Ivan did not step down from the altar, still staring intently at him.

"Most of what we humans call faith is egotism. Simply because they don't have the means to live with their own guilt, and the consequences of their own choices. Anyone who wants God to answer the question, to answer what their suffering, triviality and ordinariness really mean. They want God to give them an answer, forgetting that God himself wants their answer. Ultimately, faith is a way of life, a way for you to answer what you are. 'Man is the sum total of his own choosing'."

"You don't really teach philosophy, do you?" Al was beginning to get a bit of a headache. "Or are you trying to pose as a priest in this church?"

"I just wanted to drop in and say a few more words before you shot me." Ivan smiled. "Don't you think I know what you're planning these days? Or that Kirkland had the good sense to exclude me from the object of his vengeance? No, even if he did, I wouldn't let things end up like that, I'm part of the evil that got Francis killed, aren't I?"

Al was silent for a moment, "I also think you should have known that from the start."

"Then I guess you came to the showdown with me yourself because you didn't want the others to realise our relationship anymore."

"Right. That's right."

"I really do know you well. But, Al, your goals are too clear and your methods too direct, and people like that are always a good guess." Ivan paused slightly. "You made me think of something the other day, and I'd like to thank you for it."

"... What was it?"

"That I might have actually loved you."

"... fuck." Alfred blurted out. "Don't you joke about that!"

"After all, according to your theory, Francis and I were just friends. Then I seriously thought about it, and indeed, for the closeness of the relationship, you're much closer than he is. And I really like you, do you remember the time you actually played rock on my bed on your phone? I was just watching instead of killing you on the spot and surprised myself afterwards."

"So I should be glad I actually came back from the dead?" Al frowned. "I never felt ... you had love for me."

Ivan sighed almost inaudibly, "Because you know about as little about this love thing as a monkey at the equator knows about winter. And you've probably never noticed that I have the capacity to love people and you don't."

"So what, even if it were as you claim, I don't see what's so particularly important about it." Alfred retorted subconsciously.

"Of course it's important, you'll probably always remember me after you kill me. But I just remembered something else." Ivan said and smiled again. "But that would be the wrong ending too - after all, if it ended with you replacing those from the past as the biggest villains here, wouldn't all the problems be completely unresolved and intensified. That doesn't seem to be what Francis wants either. Is it surprising that Arthur didn't think of that when he asked you to do all this?"

"He'll let me make my own decisions." Al couldn't take this conversation anymore, he wanted to pull out his gun and kill Ivan immediately, but the words "I love you" were still drumming in his chest. What the hell was going on ... just being loved made him feel his hands and feet start to go weak, even as some part of his heart was screaming that he should ask for Ivan's forgiveness. Why, what was it about love, anyway? He knew very little, very little indeed, about love ... 

"So I don't believe such nonsense as you say. You work for him, and for your own advancement." Ivan said gently. "I have planted explosives under this church, and the switch is in my hand now. All you have to do is move, and I'll detonate it right away."

"Are you insane! Or are you trying to bluff your way into a negotiation with me?"

"I don't suggest you believe in the latter possibility. You should know me too, Al."

Shit. Alfred was desperate; what the guy was saying was indeed true. He did know Ivan well too, sanity and careful planning were almost insulated from him, madness was the main part of him. What to do ... was it too late to get Matthew to do it ... no, all he had to do was raise his hand, either to draw his gun or to get Matthew to move, and Ivan would hit the detonator, there would be absolutely no hesitation. He had, after all, been through so many life and death situations. Al's mind was spinning fast, but no matter how he thought about it he was still desperate ... 

"It's times like this we should pray." Ivan muttered to himself. "I've stayed out of such pretensions before ... but at the end of it I should indeed ... Bible, which is a good one to quote? 'Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven' ... "

Suddenly Alfred remembered, like a flash of lightning sweeping through his mind. He interrupted Ivan in the clearest voice he could muster aloud.

"Isn't it that one?

"The resurrection is in me and the life is in me, says the Lord. He who believes in me, though he die, yet shall he rise again."

Ivan was stunned.

Alfred fired two shots at him as fast as he could, dodged and rushed to the pillar. Then the explosives were detonated, and a huge shockwave rocked behind him, and the whole roof collapsed along with the pillar. I don't know if it was lucky or not, but the pillar that snapped from it formed a triangle of space above his head, blocking most of what fell, but Alfred couldn't see anything, his ears were bleeding from the shock and his head was bleeding to obscure his vision, and something pierced him as if to break him in half ... pain, he had never hurt so much in his life, it was as if someone was churning his insides with pincers and there was definitely a broken bone somewhere ... but he couldn't be bothered to check his injuries, all darkness before him, the ground floor of the church was shaking, maybe he was just fighting for a longer more painful death, like being buried alive under this building ... 

Ivan was definitely out of life. he thought with a weak consciousness. Whether those two shots had hit him or not, he hadn't intended to live.

It was like he knew what those two words were about.

Ten.

... Francis looked up blankly as someone leaned down and asked him in his ear, Are you going to confess? Or do you have anything else to say? Do you want to say a word to your beloved? But Francis' eyes swept from Ivan, from Arthur's face, and stopped at the top of the cross.

"Well, let us pray. "The leader of their gang gracefully drew a cross on his chest." Let God his old man be witness to the betrayal here. "

Everyone was waiting for him to continue.

Francis jerked his head up to stare intently at the cross, his eyes looked like they were burning with fire, and he spoke. In a voice that was heard by all in the church, clear and distinct, he said.

"The Lord says: 'The resurrection is in me and the life is in me. Whoever believes in me, though he die, he will rise again.' "

The men in the church burst into a frenzy, and the chief made a gesture ... Arthur Kirkland suddenly and violently drew his pistol from his belt, and the bullet went through Francis' heart at once.

"What dull farce is this fellow playing? "Arthur fixed his cold green eyes on the dead man on the floor, then sneered." He disgusted me. "

"Is that the only thing you can say? " Alfred stated disgruntledly." Even I've read the whole Bible! "

"It's no ordinary prayer. " Arthur smiled, looking to the cross in his hand. Sometimes he would hold it tightly in his hands." It's a spell. "

Alfred suddenly remembered this memory from his past as he teetered on the edge of life and death. A spell ... He thought back to the look in Arthur's eyes when he spoke at that time and suddenly his bones crept ... God, Ivan had been right when he said he didn't understand love! How could he think that Arthur hadn't mentioned Francis? Every day, every night, every mournful smile, every trembling shoulder, every expression and gesture he did not understand, all a mourning dedicated to that man, all an elegy played with the remnants of his life. He had loved so clearly, to the point of death, that even before he died, in those murmurs they thought meaningless, in his eyes staring out of the window at the rose, Arthur had repeated countless, countless times that he was waiting for him to come.

And how could it be that the one he loved so much was a mediocre person? The picture in his memory suddenly came to the surface, and Alfred was once again horrified to find that the man's face now shone like Apollo's in his eyes ... his hair was like soft moonlight pouring down, his young, loving and sensitive eyes, his smooth skin and healthy cheeks, his lips always seemed to contain a There was always a smile in his lips. Al now understood that even Arthur's occasional gentle smiles were an imitation of him, that the real Kirkland was as cruel and cold as Ivan had said, and would never have been the man to adopt two children and bring them up. The presence of Francis Bonnefoy now drew him firmly, his overwhelming courage and determination, his grief and his regret, kept being perpetuated by others, passed on, even Alfred looked to him to find life again, a spell ... 

The emotions that clashed with each other in his heart grew stronger and stronger, and all he wanted to do now was to lose his voice and cry like a child. Ivan was dead. Had Alfred lost forever someone who had just loved him, left behind only because he hadn't had the courage to break his bones for love? It was eternal punishment, and he had a long time to experience it slowly and regret it. He had had countless opportunities to listen to Ivan's heart ... Ivan would sometimes stop and look at him when he was reading, as if to say, why don't you ask me? What is this book saying and what is going through my mind? Wouldn't a man like me grieve for myself? He finally knew why Ivan had made the decision he did in the end; it was himself who had made him desperate ... 

Alfred fled the church in a stumble, he had never tried to feel such pain, each breath searing the inside of his body as if it was his own life that was burning away. He might survive, but he might also be crippled, lose an eye, an arm, a leg, a kidney, a piece of lung, and he would still survive after all, just as ragged and broken as Arthur. He would also be reborn, say goodbye to that past self once and for all, find a new meaning to his life, and live on earth in a different way.

He could no longer tell where he was going, just instinctively moving forward, until a pair of arms held him steady.

"Alfred, I have found you at last. "

Matthew's voice trembled as he spoke, letting his brother fall into his arms.

Eleven.

"What's the matter, what's bothering you?"

Arthur felt his lover's breath brush the back of his neck. He turned his face sideways, always thinking that Francis looked immodest, but the question shouldn't have been asked casually.

"I don't know. I've been feeling like I can't eat or sleep well lately." He answered honestly. "Always worried that our plans will fail ... not long after I met you."

"Hey, I thought love would fill you with courage." Francis said, kissing him warmly on the cheek. "There's only one thing I'm afraid of, and that's you not loving me anymore."

Arthur reddened and muttered something vaguely that probably meant: are you an idiot?

Francis continued to tease him, "I'm serious, when are you going to stop? It's probably just a game, right? Or do you plan to love me until you die?"

"Until death, then. " Arthur said suddenly.

Francis froze, the look so moved that Arthur almost thought he was about to burst into tears.

"It's the first time I've ever heard anyone make a promise like that. "He hugged Arthur." Then it's a deal, no matter which of us dies first, we'll never forget each other. If we both have to go to hell, I'll be waiting for you at the gates of hell. "

Arthur thought to himself that he didn't have to rush, he could still spend some time with Al and Matthew. Francis was patient and he would wait.

The only problem was that they both probably wouldn't be in the same afterlife kingdom. A good man like him would probably have gone to heaven long ago, while one like himself would have to be sent to hell to be punished, right, and then Francis might not be able to wait for him anymore.

But it didn't matter, he was just following his own heart, his own will. Even if the other man died, his love could still live on. Even if he himself died, it would still be possible. No one had ever said that this could not be done. His life was saved precisely because of this. Arthur thought as his grip on the cross finally loosened and it fell to the floor with a crisp sound. He closed his eyes forever. At that moment he saw a wide path glowing with light, along which all life was trudging, and ahead of him a man was standing there waiting for him.

He knew who was coming.

Fin.

Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)


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